


Extent of My Sin

by cherryvanilla



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance, The Used
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-21
Updated: 2010-11-21
Packaged: 2017-10-13 07:40:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/134751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanilla/pseuds/cherryvanilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“And I don’t want to think too much about what we should and shouldn’t do.” Originally written June 2005.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Extent of My Sin

**Author's Note:**

> Title, summary and lyrics by Trent Reznor.

_“And if I can’t have everything well then just give me a taste.”_

Bert pulls away from your mouth, grinning down at you as if this really was just a playful game of truth or dare, but his eyes betray him. You see heat and longing and it almost makes you gasp, or bolt, or hell, lean forward again; except Bert is looking around the room, sheepishly shrugging and everyone is laughing so you join in as well, ignoring the burn in your stomach. No one gives two shits, they’re used to it all now, but you’re still so hot and you want Bert’s lips back on yours now, now, now.

Then you think about your absent ‘girlfriend,’ wonder what the fuck you’re doing in that ‘relationship’ when you can’t even think of it in your mind without putting imaginary quotes around the key words. This train of thought leads your eyes over to Quinn. You take in his carefully schooled expression. You know, of course; everyone does. You’ve seen the onstage kisses and the backstage ones, as well. You’ve seen the light in their eyes and the affectionate glances. But most of all you’ve seen Bert shrug off the implication of it being anything serious. Now you’re not so sure, not when Quinn looks pissy and Bert is not so subtly refusing to meet his eyes. The room feels warm and small suddenly, and you need to get away. Luckily everything breaks up not long after and you all but run to your room. Once inside you rub your cock through your pants, teasing, feathery touches as you bite your lip and think, 'Bert, Bert, Bert,' until there's a knock on the door. You curse and trip over a chair. Throwing it open, you freeze.

Bert’s eyes are wild, his expression crazed. It isn’t the look he gets after he’s stoned or wasted. It isn’t even the look he gets when he’s singing. it’s passion, deep and out of control.

“Truth or dare?” you’re asked and the answer leaves your lips without thought, as if on automatic. Perhaps it's because ‘truth’ seems like a scariest option possible at this point.

“Kiss me again,” is your task.

You don’t give yourself time to think before you’re pulling him inside, slamming him against the door. And maybe you didn't even hear what he said; maybe your mind is fucking with you. Maybe you didn’t have to, though, because this is all you can think about and if Bert hadn't said it, well, he's sure as fuck not trying to get away. He’s hot; so hot and fucking hard against you. His mouth is like fire, his tongue a sharp, probing mass of liquid heat. Your brain is screaming at you -- bright red signs of DANGER DANGER flashing behind your eyelids -- but you don’t care because Bert's leg is up around your waist, and Bert's cock is pressing into your groin and Bert's mouth is biting and licking as if you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted. You spin around and push him toward the bed. You both trip over that same fucking chair and fall to the ground, laughing breathlessly, teeth mashing painfully together. You lick one another's bruises for a few seconds, grope and roll around like kids until Bert pulls back and holds out his hand. You take it, interlocking your fingers with his, marveling how perfect you fit, how perfect this is.

Then you’re on your back, on the bed, and you’re clawing at clothes, lifting, touching, and laughing. You grind your hips together, bare chests sliding against one another’s, sweat beginning to build. You’re moaning now, soft little desperate moans, high and breathless and you know you sound like a girl, fucking *know* it, but can't care right now and Bert doesn't seem to either, just slips his leg between your thigh, aligning you both even closer, the friction so fucking tight that you want to die.

You break away from Bert's mouth, panting harsh, uneven breaths as your cheek scratches against his beard and wow, that feels fucking amazing. You do it again, rubbing like a cat. Bert growls and slides a hand beneath your ass, squeezing, pulling you even closer and suddenly the frantic pace ceases and you’re just holding each other, bodies so close they could be one. But they're not, they're not, because Bert whispers, "Quinn.."

Your body goes still, yet you manage to choke out, “what?”

"He.. he'll know. And he'll, fuck, he'll hate it.. but. Jesus, Gee, I can't stop.." he sounds so helpless and broken. You start to think of her, wondering if you should be feeling this kind of guilt; unsurprised that you don’t. He must sense something because he leans close and whispers, “It’s not cheating if it’s with a guy.” You laugh sharply, wondering if he’s trying to placate you or himself. There are a million reasons you should stop. None of them matches up to the reason that you don’t.

You start moving again, slowly, kissing all over his jaw and neck and finally capturing his lips, pulling on the bottom, “don't stop. You're my fucking drug, man. Best drug ever..”

He laughs at that, the smile back in his eyes as presses his hand to your jaw, holds you down against the pillow while your tongues tangle together, lips barely grazing. “This ... is better than drugs, baby. I'd go sober for this, all I fucking need..”

You smile like a fool, because this is as sappy as Bert will ever get; because it's like lyrics and he puts everything romantic, every hidden piece of his soul in his fucking lyrics and now he's given you a piece of it too.

He traces your smile with his tongue, slowly as if you have all the time in the world. Then the pace is frantic and hard again, like fucking animals and you can't handle Bert's taste, the taste of all this, and you don’t know yet that Bert is writing lyrics in his head, about you getting turned on by the taste of your sin, except he doesn't know what the sin is -- the infidelity? The homosexuality? You’ll learn later he didn’t care, because who said lyrics ever had to make sense.

You arch upwards, your neck long and delicate and waiting to be ravished; Bert accepts the invitation. His mouth is hard and unforgiving, teeth nipping and making you jerk, mouth sucking so hard you can't handle it, can't fucking – You just run your hands through Bert's hair, over his damp back, down to his ass, kneading and grasping and -- oh, god.

”You.. you know.. what they do to guys.. oh, guys like us in p-prison..” You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about or if it was a question, a statement, or a social commentary.

Bert, however, was apparently listening. Goddamn him for still having the brain cells. He pulls back and looks down at you with laughing eyes. “You got a rape fantasy I don't know about, Gee?"

You’re so far gone it takes you a few seconds to make sense of that. You slap his ass and mutter, "fuck you, dickhead," but you’re smiling shyly and, Jesus, you can't believe what this guy does to you.

Bert grins evilly and starts sliding down your body, licking your nipples, easing your zipper down and, oh. “Actually ... was hoping I could fuck *you.*”

You have no clue how you don’t come right then and you hate the vulnerability of that; hate that your dick jumped and twitched under Bert’s hand just from that statement. He can see exactly how much you want it, crave it, need it; sees you losing control. You want Bert to feel that way to. You want..

“Fuck me.”

And then Bert’s hands are on your thighs, so hot as he nuzzles your stomach. He pulls your pants down, holds your cock at the base and starts lapping away as if he's the cat now, licking and oh, sucking, sucking hard, lips wrapped around your dick, pulled into that hot furnace of a mouth. So…damn..

“Ah, fuck, why, why'd you..” Your eyes are wild and dazed and you know how you must look -- completely fucking wrecked -- but Bert's pulled away and --

He starts kissing the juncture of your groin and thigh, over and over. “Shh...” he whispers, and then he's shifting and turning you around and, oh. Right.

Before you can blink, he's off the bed and looking for stuff, stuff you don’t even know if you have. You quickly kick off your pants, lie on your stomach, arms hugging the pillow, and take a deep, unsteady breath. You feel awkward and exposed, like a girl waiting to be deflowered, yet there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

You must’ve had something in the bathroom because Bert’s back with a tube and condoms and, god, he's naked now and climbing on top of you. You feel the head of his dick resting between his cheeks and a hot mouth on his shoulder. Then there are fingers, wet and cold but warming quickly, opening you, making you ache, burn, need.

“So hot, baby. Like fire. Caught on fire..” Bert’s babbling but you don't care, just want, want this now, now, yet fuck your treacherous mind because --

“Quinn..”

He knows right away what you mean, and answers, “no, never.”

It shouldn’t make you so fucking *happy* but it does, and you’re pushing backwards now. Bert’s teasing your hole, making you ache for it, push back harder and then he’s pushing inside, and you’re arching back, trying to reach. You lean the back of your head on Bert’s shoulder as he pushes in deeper. You tilt your head when he starts nuzzling your neck, needing to kiss him again. Kiss me again, you think, and he does. He’s filling you, breaking you, his tongue and cock like stakes to your heart because this is perfection and perfection shouldn’t end.

‘I'll kiss your lips again, I'll kiss you lips again.’ The words run over and over in your mind like a mantra and that's it, there *will* be a song, whether you like it or not. It's like breathing to you now, like gravity; impossible to deny these fucking chemical processes, these forces of nature. Bert's moaning against your face now, desperate and needy. He moves slowly, oh slow and then faster, harder until you’re thrashing underneath him, babbling nonsense about how you can't, but you can, and fuck, you can't! Can't think about the morning, can't think about life after this moment. You can’t, absolutely can’t, think about what life will be like without Bert inside you, and how will you ever feel this complete again?

"Gee, oh. fuck, Gee.. just.. yes.."

Your face is wet when Bert pulls you back again, kisses you again. His cries are muffled by your mouth; your sobs muffled by his. .You lose yourself in Right Now. Lose yourself in the steady, constant thrusts that grow more erratic as the minutes tick on, in your own blinding ecstasy when a warm, large hand finally wraps around your cock. Your rhythm falters and all that can be heard is the creek of the bed and the sound of slick flesh-on-flesh until Bert jerks and the air shifts around you, now filed with the pounding of your heart and blending of moans and shallow breathing.

He slams in, hard, one last time, and then he’s coming and you throw your head back, slamming into Bert’s jaw. He curses; you come. He falls on top of you, laughing and shuddering and you smile through it all, because Bert’s pulling out of you, tossing the condom away, turning you slowly and tugging you close. He wraps himself around your body like he wants to crawl inside. As if he needs to be closer than he was only seconds ago. You wonder if he's feeling it too, if the soft sniffles against your chest have nothing to do with eye-watering, nose-running, bone-melting sex. You hold him, kissing and touching lazily until he looks up. You meet each other’s eyes for long moments, before he leans in and kisses you slowly, softly. It’s more romantic than anything else that happened tonight.

Its then, in this moment, you know the kisses will never stop, even if everything else does.

 

[end]


End file.
